


Yield

by Preach



Series: Tradition [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Complete, Consensual, Cousin Incest, Erik has Plans but things don't go as Planned, M/M, Stand Alone, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preach/pseuds/Preach
Summary: "I yield," T'Challa chokes out, kneeling before Erik in the shallow waters of Warrior Falls. A trickle of blood runs down the side of his mouth.





	1. Chapter 1

 " _I've trained. I've killed. I killed in America, Afghanistan and Iraq. I took life from my own brothers and sisters right here on this continent! All this death, just so that I could kill you!"_

* * *

"I yield," T'Challa chokes out, kneeling before Erik in the shallow waters of Warrior Falls. A trickle of blood runs down the side of his mouth. 

Erik freezes, momentarily stunned, the dark-red feeling of _bloodlust_ still pounding in his veins. He must not have heard T'Challa correctly, Erik thinks. Or perhaps not - perhaps T'Chakas's spoiled, golden child really _is_  just the sort of coward who would choose dishonour over death. 

But nothingis going to stop Erik from getting his revenge. 

With a furious snarl, Erik brings his knives down on T'Challa's prone form. This moment - the culmination of a lifetime of blood, sweat and heartbreak - he's going to _burn_ it into his memory, turn it over and savour it in his mind for the rest of his life. 

_CLANG!_

His knives are intercepted by the shaft of a long spear. Metal screams against metal as the vibranium weapons clash.

Erik hisses in rage. 

It's Zuri, the shaman, standing between Erik and his victim.

_Zuri...Uncle_ _James_.

"He has yielded," Zuri says firmly, blocking Erik's killing blow. "You are the lawful winner of the ritual combat. The challenge is now over -  _my king_."

_Over? I'm going to kill him, and you as well!,_ Erik almost shouts. The words rise to the tip of his tongue, but prudence - caution - makes him hesitate.

_My king_. 

He _won_. Beat T'Challa soundly, routed him, before the eyes of all of Wakanda. T'Challa yielded ( _like a coward_ , Erik thinks contemptuously) and Erik is the _king_ now. 

Much as Erik wants to, he can't kill T'Challa and Zuri right now. It wouldn't be wise to show his disregard for Wakandan traditions and laws by slaughtering their shaman and ex-king on the spot. He'd lose all public support before he's even been crowned.

Erik grits his teeth, swallowing his fury down into the pit of his stomach. He's already waited thirty years for revenge - he can wait a while longer.

Anyway, he can always have T'Challa assassinated once things have died down a bit. Perhaps a little _accident_ could be arranged.

Composing himself, Erik turns to Zuri with a vicious little smirk. 

"Sorry," Erik says, with as much sincerity as he can manage (which wasn't much). "I got carried away with the fight."

Zuri doesn't look like he particularly believes Erik. But there's nothing else to be done, except for Zuri to approach Erik with the bone-fang necklace - the mantle of King and Black Panther.

Zuri places the necklace ceremonially around Erik's neck as they turn to face the gathered spectators.

"The King of Wakanda!" Zuri announces.

Nobody claps or cheers. Nobody looks pleased as they dutifully cross their arms over their chests.

Erik doesn't care. It's the _best fucking day_ of his life.

"And the King can now proceed to claim his...prize," Zuri continues, with the slightest of grimaces.

Erik is sharp. He doesn't miss Zuri's small pause, the way that his eyes flicker towards T'Challa, kneeling bloody and broken before Erik in the water. Doesn't miss the way the corners of Zuri's mouth tighten with worry as he says the word "prize".

"What," Erik says to himself, quietly. "The _fuck."_

* * *

"But we're cousins," Erik says in flat disbelief. 

"It is tradition," the Merchant Tribe elder replies, as if that was the final word on the matter.

"Man, y'all sure are into some kinky shit here," Erik says, laughing, even as his mind reels. His father's notebook definitely _hadn't_ mentioned this particular Wakandan tradition. 

Apparently, in addition to the throne, the winner of the ritual challenge also had the right to claim the defeated challenger as a prize.

Claim, as in _fuck_.

"My King, do you not wish to exercise your claim?" Zuri asks, a touch of hopefulness in his voice. 

Erik is torn. 

On one hand - he wants nothing more than to end T'Challa's worthless life this instant, to complete his revenge by driving his knives into T'Challa's chest.

But on the other hand - imagine T'Challa's torment, T'Chaka turning in his grave as Erik _claims_ his precious golden son. The best sort of revenge.

Well. Upon further consideration, Erik reflects, he can always arrange to have T'Challa assassinated _after_ he'd had his fun first.

"The hell I won't," Erik declares to the council, starting to smirk. "I have the greatest respect for Wakanda's traditions. Bring T'Challa to me."


	2. Chapter 2

Erik stretches out on the luxurious bed, sighing in bliss as his skin brushes against the silky sheets.

"Man, the king sure knows how to live well," he laughs to himself.

T'Challa's old room (now Erik's) is the largest in the palace, lavishly decorated and tastefully furnished. A far cry from his old apartment in Oakland, Erik thinks bitterly. 

There's a knock on the door. Erik looks up.

It's T'Challa, flanked by two of the Dora Milaje. The guards back out, closing the door behind them as T'Challa steps inside his room. T'Challa's hands are cuffed behind his back.

Eeik recognizes the cuffs. It's the same pair of gleaming silver cuffs that T'Challa's henchmen had used on Erik that morning. He vividly remembers the feeling of cold, unbreakable vibranium cutting into his wrists.

Erik's mouth goes dry, suddenly, his bravado slipping away.

Somehow, it hadn't occurred to him that T'Challa would be his  _prisoner_. That by the customs of his people, T'Challa wouldn't be able to refuse him.

Fuck.

It's all T'Challa's fault for putting Erik on the spot like this. If he'd just  _died_  like he was supposed to, instead of yielding like a fucking coward, Erik wouldn't be in this position right now.

Erik grits his teeth as T'Challa walks up to him. T'Challa's head is held high, his jaw clenched. Eyes glittering with some undefineable emotion. He's so obviously putting on a brave front that despite everything that's happened between them, Erik can't help but feel a tiny flash of pity.

"Stop," Erik says, abruptly. T'Challa blinks.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Erik snarls, running a hand through his dreadlocks in frustration. "Look, you don't have to do it, all right?"

"What?" 

"You don't have to do anything," Erik says flatly. He can't believe that he's letting T'Challa off this easily. "Just - just go stand in the corner or something. I'll call the Dora Milaje to come in after an hour. And if anyone asks, I'm gonna tell them I wrecked your ass," Erik adds, in a flash of spiteful pettiness. 

"You - do you really mean that?" T'Challa asks. He looks so astonished that Erik actually feels a bit insulted - what sort of person does T'Challa think he is?

"I ain't gonna force you, cuz," Erik snaps. "I'm not that kind of man."

T'Challa blinks again, as if he can't believe what he's hearing. "N'Jadaka - "

" _Don't call me that_ ," Erik hisses. "You got no goddamn  _right_. Y'all people didn't want me."

"I am sorry," T'Challa says quietly. "Erik, then."

T'Challa steps closer to Erik, eyes locked on him ( _like their first time in the throne room_ ) and slowly, deliberately, leans forward, pressing his lips to Erik's.

Its a light, brief kiss, almost entirely devoid of passion, but there's something about the way T'Challa's warm, soft lips tremble against his own that makes Erik's heart skip a beat.

Erik recoils sharply, shoving T'Challa away. "What the  _fuck_?" he demands.

"You may not respect our traditions, but I do," T'Challa says quietly. 

"That's a pretty shitty reason to spread your legs," Erik sneers.

T'Challa sighs. "That is not the only reason. But thank you for your concern for me. I assure you, I am not averse to doing this with you."

"I am not  _concerned_ for you, _"_  Erik hisses, furious. God, T'Challa really riles him up like nothing else. "And ' _not averse_ ' isn't fucking good enough for me. I'm a fucking catch. You better be panting for it, or I'm not fucking interested. At all."

T'Challa steps towards Erik again. This close, Erik can't help but notice how long his eyelashes are, how regal his bearing is. How much T'Challa still looks every inch the king, despite yielding his kingdom and his throne.

"Let me show you, then," T'Challa murmurs, eyes locked on Erik's.

Erik freezes. 

_What the_   _fuck,_ Erik thinks as T'Challa sinks to his knees before Erik.  _What the fuck?,_  as T'Challa, hands still cuffed behind his back, leans forward, bowing his head towards Erik's groin.  _WHAT THE FUCK_ , as T'Challa's teeth bite gently on Erik's zipper, dragging it slowly down. 

"T'Challa," Erik says, voice barely above a whisper. "T'Challa, what the fuck are you doing?"

T'Challa looks up at Erik through his lashes, and Erik could swear that he's actually smirking. That smug bastard. "Do you want me to stop?" T'Challa asks, with a tilt of his head.

"N-no," Erik whispers. 

At that, T'Challa leans forward again, closing his mouth around Erik's cock, enclosing him in hot, wet warmth. Erik inhales sharply, feeling his knees go weak. Tries desperately to stifle his own whimpers as T'Challa swirls his tongue around Erik's hard cock, expertly licking and suckling at him.

Somehow, even though  _T'Challa_  is the one who's handcuffed, on his knees with his mouth around Erik's cock, it feels as if he's the one with the complete upper hand right now. 

As if on cue, T'Challa pulls off Erik's cock with a wet, obscene noise, looking up at him with dark brown eyes. 

"Release my hands, Erik," T'Challa says, and it's not so much a plea as a command. T'Challa's tone is so imperious that it immediately gets right under Erik's skin, but he can't stop himself from staring, mesmerized, at T'Challa's plush, spit-slick lips.

As if hypnotized, Erik brushes his thumb over the kimoyo bracelet on his other hand. The cuffs slide smoothly off T'Challa's wrists, falling to the floor with a clink.

Immediately, T'Challa lunges up, cupping Erik's face in his hands as he shoves Erik back against the wall. This time the kiss is all passion, T'Challa's mouth hot and hungry against Erik, T'Challa's tongue flicking quickly across Erik's lips, T'Challa's teeth nipping gently at Erik's bottom lip. Erik can't help but gasp at the furious intensity of the kiss, and immediately hates himself for it. 

But T'Challa is now stripping in fluid, sleek motions, shimmying out of his robe and letting it fall towards the ground as he stalks towards the bed, and Erik can't  _think_ any more. Can't do much else but follow T'Challa to the bed, mind still spinning.

T'Challa lies with his back flat on the bed, fully naked, hands reaching out to pull Erik close, dragging Erik down on top of him. He wraps his legs around Erik's hips, arching up towards Erik as he runs his hands over Erik's scarred chest, only stopping briefly to flick Erik's sensitive nipples.

"Fuck!" Erik curses, unable to suppress a little squirm as his cock hardens against T'Challa's thighs. 

T'Challa grins up at him, totally unselfconscious, a filthy knowing smirk. "Like that?" T'Challa purrs, reaching down between his spread legs to finger himself open.

"Fuck!" Erik swears again. It's the hottest thing that Erik has ever seen. Erik reaches down towards T'Challa's hole too, and finds to his surprise that T'Challa is already slick and wet.

"Wait, you prepped yourself first?" Erik asks.

"Of course I did," T'Challa says, as if it were the only logical thing to do. "You might not have been considerate."

"I am not  _considerate,_ " Erik mutters, even though they both know that it's an obvious lie. In revenge, he circles his finger around T'Challa's hole, once, before viciously jabbing it in right next to T'Challa's own finger.

T'Challa finally whimpers, mouth falling open, arching up towards Erik as Erik slides his finger in and out of T'Challa in rhythm with T'Challa's panting breaths, rubbing against T'Challa's own finger as they both stretch T'Challa open. 

"Enough," T'Challa gasps, squirming. "In me, now."

He reaches down to guide Erik's cock towards his hole, throwing his head back with a sigh as Erik finally enters his clenched  heat, flexing his ass around Erik. Erik groans, too, squeezing his eyes shut in bliss.

Fuck. When he used to dream about having T'Challa underneath him, completely at his mercy, he hadn't imagined that it'd happen like  _this_.

Erik thrusts into T'Challa, hard, setting up a fierce, quick rhythm as he pounds T'Challa into the mattress. T'Challa writhes deliciously under him, moaning and arching with each thrust, fingernails dragging over the scars on Erik's back. 

"Let me on top," T'Challa suddenly demands. He shoves Erik off him, flipping Erik onto his back as he crouches over Erik, their positions reversed.

"Why, you little shit - " Erik protests, but his voice cuts off as T'Challa sinks down on his cock, taking Erik into him in one smooth motion. T'Challa begins riding him, moving up and down on Erik, ass flexing around Erik as he bends down to kiss Erik possessively.

"I -  _ahhh_  - I'm close," Erik gasps, squeezing his eyes shut. One more flex of T'Challa's ass around him and he's gone, releasing deep inside T'Challa's slick heat. T'Challa rides him through his orgasm, jerking himself off at the same time as he comes with a moan.

T'Challa slides off Erik's cock and sits back on his haunches, inspecting his hand, now streaked with his own cum. He raises his fingers to his mouth, slowly, deliberately, licking them clean, looking just like a very self-satisfied cat licking cream from its own paw.

"Damn," Erik breathes, half-laughing, gazing at his cousin with new regard. "Man, you're such a fucking freak."

T'Challa raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say,  _But you liked it._

Well, he's not  _wrong_ , even if Erik would never admit it.

"Traditionally," T'Challa says slyly, with a sideways glance at Erik, "if the king yields in ritual combat, he would become the consort of the new king, offering counsel and... _intimate comforts_. It eases the transition of power."

"The hell I'm making you my consort," Erik's mouth says automatically, even as his dick vehemently disagrees. "I'd sooner kill you first."

"I'm sure I can persuade you to change your mind," T'Challa says, now smirking as he crawls close to Erik, curling up against him and slotting their bodies together. They fit together perfectly.

Well...

Erik was going to kill T'Challa. Really. It would be idiotic to keep a potential rival for the throne around, leaving T'Challa free to sneak about and ruin his plans. 

But...

But it was also important to evaluate one's plans in the face of new information. Being able to adapt and change one's mind was a virtue.

"You know what," Erik finds himself saying as he strokes T'Challa's hair, "I think I'mma let you try to convince me one more time."

 

THE END

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha, I originally intended to write a PWP...then plot got away with me.
> 
> If you liked this one, please read the next work in the series, 1001 Wakandan Nights! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :)


End file.
